


when I say 'break up', I mean 'I love you'

by doofusface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: College, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Love, Love Confessions, One Shot, Studying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 15:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13977918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doofusface/pseuds/doofusface
Summary: “So why are you fake-dating Peter, again?”“Because in the intellectual community, he is, as some would say, ‘a catch’,” she says, taking the time to add air-quotes.Ned snorts. “You think he’s hot.”





	when I say 'break up', I mean 'I love you'

**Author's Note:**

> I had a thought and this happened to be it
> 
> set about five years after homecoming

Michelle considers the light streaming into her window. It’s silver and strong, dust clearly falling and swirling within and without the beams. It lands continuously onto her wooden floor, far enough from the lamps to be faded from view.

She hums. The analog clock reads four-o-seven, it’s antique arms matching everything preppy and undeniably old about Harvard.

She pushes the boy— _man_ , he would argue, since he’s already twenty-one, as of three months ago—sitting on the floor with his back to her with her foot. “Peter.”

“‘Yuh?” he replies, pen in his mouth.

“Wanna break up?”

He squints at her, then turns to the other ‘man’ currently perched on Michelle’s swivel chair who’s messing with the skeleton of a machine. “Hey Ned, how’s it looking?”

“Hmm,” Ned replies, screwing something on the underbelly. There’s a passing beat before he presses a button on a nearby remote, and the metallic beast _whirrs_ to life. He grins. “Like we will _definitely_ get dates to the mixer.”

Peter turns back to Michelle. “Nope.”

“He just said you’d get dates,” she flatlines, dropping her sketchbook. “I’m not needed.”

Peter mumbles something in response, and she hates herself for teaching him subtlety, because she can’t hear it. She does, however, catch Ned quirking a brow and looking at Peter like he’d just revealed the cure for cancer.

Either way, nobody says another word.

_Lame._

“I have a class that weekend.”

“So skip.”

“I’m not a vigilante.”

“You could be,” Ned quips, turning off his amalgamation and tweaking something within. “I’ve never seen you and Spider-Man in the same room before.”

Michelle glares at him. “You have. Multiple times.”

“I hear he can make copies now,” Peter adds in mock-seriousness. “Heard a friend of his got him a sweet hookup.”

“I hate you both.”

“So why are you fake-dating Peter, again?”

 _Because harassment is annoying and I don’t have time to dismantle the patriarchy single-handedly while also writing all my final essays_ , she thinks.

“Because in the intellectual community, he is, as some would say, ‘a catch’,” she says, taking the time to add air-quotes.

Ned snorts. “You think he’s hot.”

Michelle waves a hand dismissively. “My _classmates_ think he’s hot. I, while immune to hotness, think he’s a fair notch below both Bucky and T’challa, but unfortunately both of them are taken.”

“ _I’m right here_ ,” Peter complains with that boyish voice of his. “ _I exist._ ”

“Ooh, _babe_ , could’ve fooled me,” she says, kicking him. She was almost free.

He tumbles forward, and while Michelle’s aware she couldn’t have possibly kicked him _that_ hard, he looks dazed anyway, getting up and stuttering a feeble excuse to grab some water.

Ned looks at him like he’s grown a second head, right in the shoulder area, and slowly passes him a water bottle from the mini-fridge beside him. “Dude. Just ask.”

“Ye-Yup. Thanks.” He sits back down and takes a long swig.

“Wow, if I had this effect on every man I’ve stumbled on in my travels—”

“—you only ‘travel’ to your dorm, our dorm, and the college—”

“—shut up, Leeds—I would be sitting pretty in a billionaire’s mansion by now, enacting world-saving methods from the confines of an ergonomic chair, and possibly imported chocolates.”

Ned reopens the mini-fridge. “Maybe start with less water bottles?”

“Again,” Michelle says, “ _if_. I am currently on a scholar’s budget. I regret it as much as you do, but those water-in-a-box things are _muy_ _expensivo_.”

“That’s not real Spanish,” Peter says.

“It’s not _my_ minor, nerd supreme.”

“How _is_ Applied Sarcasm, Michelle?”

She makes to kick him, but he ducks, listening to his spider-senses for once. She sticks her tongue out at him.

“Please flirt _after_ we finish homework,” Ned says tiredly.

Michelle stares at him blankly. “You’re done. I’m done. Peter’s _never_ done—”

“Hey!”

“—How am I supposed to make this fake-relationship work if I can’t even bicker with the love of my life?”

Ned’s eyes widen.

Peter turns so fast she’s sure the crack is from somewhere in his neck area.

“Fake,” she backpedals, coughing on embarrassment. A thick emotion, that. “Fake love of my life.”

“Are you sure?” Ned says. “Like, extremely sure?”

“Fake,” Michelle repeats. “Very, very fake.”

Watching Peter deflate in front of her makes her regret saying it, but it’s already out there. In the aether. Out with the rest of their life-changing secrets.

_I’m Spider-Man._

_I hacked Flash’s laptop during the grad party and made it play the theme song of Lazy Town._

_Peter’s the love of my life._

...Alright, one is not like the others, but Ned’s an open book, so it’s really not her fault.

Peter stares her down.

She assumes _Cool Michelle_ position. “What’s up, Parker?”

He smirks. “You’re lying.”

“What?” How dare he. Michelle is a good liar. Even if it _is_ well-past 4AM, and she hasn’t slept more than eight hours in the past week. (Not recommended, by the by.)

“You called me ‘Parker’.”

“That’s hardly a good basis for calling me a liar.”

“You only call me by my surname when we’re pretending to date and you’re introducing me to your classmates and professors,” he says plainly.

“I’ve called you ‘Parker’ a multitude of times before and after those meetings,” she argues, a yawn escaping her lips. The clock says it’s edging to five, and she’s tired. She’s _so_ tired.

Ned mumbles something. Her pillow looks very comfy. Nice pillow. Good pillow. Soft pillow.

“Yeah,” Peter says, evidently agreeing to whatever Ned has said. “Yeah, Ned’s right.”

Michelle rubs her eyes. “Okay, uh, I’m not proud of it, but I totally zoned out there.”

“You only called him ‘Parker’ outside of those times if you’re saying his full name,” Ned repeats.

This must be what the cool kids call karma.

Years of hyper-observing her friends and turning herself into a semi-Sherlock Holmes has finally bit her in the butt, courtesy of her two Watsons.

“You are both fired from being my friends, effective immediately,” she attempts to say angrily, but it’s tampered by her drowsiness. Shameful.

“You can hire me as your boyfriend,” Peter says _way_ too fast, and she feels the whiplash from three feet away.

“Wow, five-AM Peter is gutsy,” Ned yawns, leaning to grab another water bottle.

“Five-AM Peter will be dead and _below_  a ditch if he keeps talking,” Michelle quips from behind a pillow. When did she get here? When did she lie down? Was she actually asleep this entire time? Is this just a product of her deranged, sleep-deprived subconscious?

“You’re not dreaming,” Peter says.

Welp. Apparently she loses brain-to-mouth control at this hour, with this much lack of sleep.

“That’s what dream-you _would_ say,” she answers.

“Would he say he loves you?”

Ned drops his (open) water bottle. He curses, and Michelle hears him shuffle around looking for something to wipe it with.

“Left cabinet,” she and Peter say in unison. Michelle approximates his position by his voice, and sends the fourth kick of the night to where she hopes his face is.

It, unsurprisingly, misses.

“Look what you’ve done, dream-Peter,” she chastises, still behind the pillow. It’s very comfy here. Very welcoming. The fabric softener is the same brand she uses back home, and it reminds her of her mom. Aw. She misses her mom. She asked _one_ question about Peter the first time he came over and didn't pry past that.

Nice pillow. Good softener.

“Michelle,” he whispers. He’s beside her now. Past the pillow. Seems very real. At least, his sauna-aura does. He is, objectively, of higher than normal temperature.

“MJ,” she whispers back. “You’re allowed to call me MJ.”

“MJ,” Peter says with deep reverence. “I love you.”

“I am aware, dream-nerd. I am awesome.” Her voice drops. “And your friend. Friends love friends.”

Ned grunts in agreement several feet away, and she hears the aforementioned cabinet open and close.

She feels the pillow shift slightly, and lamp-mixed moonlight enters her view.

Also, Peter. He appears to be in view as well.

Michelle shall pretend this is indeed a dream, and perhaps that will lessen the blush currently enveloping her face.

(Futile, but one must always _try_.)

“Hey,” he says hazily. Or maybe she’s receiving it hazily. Dang. Sleep is such an important part of life. Why does she keep forgetting to do it?

“Hello, Spider-no-mask-Man,” she replies, attempting to restore cover to her face.

“I’ll let you sleep in a bit.”

“Let me sleep _now_.”

“Hey, MJ, look at me,” he says, gently lowering the pillow until her face is uncovered. “I’m _in love_ with you.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m sleepy and won’t remember this in the morning.”

False. She has an excellent memory. She will remember this in the morning, and for many mornings after.

“He’s only saying it because you messed up being all cool,” Ned laughs from the floor, evidently finished wiping the water. “He’s been waiting  _years_ for an opening.”

Michelle glares at him, then returns to her original position and pats Peter’s cheek. “This is a very realistic dream.”

Peter’s face moves closer. “You know what usually wakes people up in dreams?” he whispers.

“Uh. Dying?” Michelle answers, squinting. “Dream or no, I would rather not have my best friends murder me in my room, thanks.”

Peter shakes his head. “Kissing,” he says, and closes the gap.

Ned sucks in a breath, holding in his laughter. What a nice birthday gift he’s gotten this year. How thoughtful.

Michelle has her eyes closed when Peter pulls away. Her words come out with surprising strength, given that her breath has yet to return to her lungs. “Yeah, pretty sure that’s if you’re kissing whoever’s asleep, not _in_ the dream, dumbass.”

“Woke you up, didn’t I?” Peter grins as she finally opens her eyes.

“No,” she mutters, retreating back behind the pillow. “Kiss me in the morning.”

“It’s five. In the morning.”

She flips him off. “The true morning. When the sun rises. The rooster’s signal—whatever—I love you too—let me _sleep_.”

Ned keeps laughing behind them, keeling over onto the floor.

Soon enough, they _all_ fall asleep.

...Except for Peter. Because homework.

* * *

The next morning Peter does as instructed—with Michelle happily accepting this as not-a-dream—and the two of them proceed to tackle Ned awake in a blaze of inspired stupidity, resulting in a happy accident of him finding out the robot did _not_ need that extra leg, and could, in fact, fly with a single propeller.

So, y’know, all-in-all a good study session.

Productive, even.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how harvard does things like dorms but listen, even if they did ban visitors past a certain hour, peter's spider-man and can carry ned. so there! ha! loophole!
> 
> ...well, back to doing homework
> 
> feel free to yell at me in the comments or doofwrites on tumblr!


End file.
